


If It Feels Good

by ajj



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Begging, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Rough Oral Sex, Submissive Hannibal, dominant will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajj/pseuds/ajj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Will a long while to kill again, but when he does, he discovers a new sense of power that he's interested in testing on his lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Feels Good

It was not Hannibal that brought bloodshed into their new lifestyle.

He had never even so much as mentioned hunting to Will following their escape to Greece. Will was sure he’d been hunting anyway—each meal he served unfailingly had some kind of meat component to it, and he knew the flavor all too well—but he didn’t speak of it to Will. It was easy to understand why; Hannibal’s greatest fear was moving too fast, too far, too quickly and startling the already twitchy Will enough to leave the chance of a domestic lifestyle behind.

He could not ask Hannibal to change, nor did he have a desire to. As long as he didn’t need to see it or experience it, Will found that he could live with himself and the man he laid next to at night. Acceptance had brought contentment for the first time in his life, and he’d decided that such a thing was far more important than saving the lives of strangers.

That was how things were for a good while. Greece was relaxing enough, though not the first choice of either of them as a place to settle down; Hannibal had promised to relocate them to Italy as soon as enough time had passed and he was sure the FBI wasn’t prowling every street corner of Florence in search of them. Hannibal had, shockingly, allowed Will a single dog, a mutt they found in the streets one day, named Frederick in mock affection. “Because he’s very ugly,” Hannibal had said, deadpan as ever, throwing Will into a ten minute laughing fit. The only blood Will had seen since slaying the Dragon was his and Hannibal’s as they’d healed.

He didn’t know why he felt an urge to change that. His nights were plagued with dreams of the Dragon’s death, and noble as it had been, Will’s mind twisted it into something far darker and more brutal. He’d wake up soaked in sweat, trembling, and painfully aroused. Hannibal would simply tighten his arms around Will’s midsection and whisper things of a foreign language into his ear until sleep took him again, only for the process to repeat until morning. If Hannibal ever took notice of Will’s arousal, he didn’t say anything; but ignoring it would fall perfectly in line with his morals. Even after they were more than comfortable with one another’s bodies, Hannibal blatantly refused to touch Will without explicit permission.

The days were often no better in that respect. Living with Hannibal was fine, even _nice,_ from the tender early morning kisses to their nighttime bouts of what might be called lovemaking if not for the roughness of it. It was when they went out that Will was forced to confront the worst corners of his mind, when they brought forth images of strangers on the streets bloodied and tortured by his hand. He never mentioned it to Hannibal, but it did earn him more than a few curious glances when his hand would suddenly squeeze tighter around the older man’s.

Will held on to his morality for as long as he could, but it was clear that it would only be so long before the dam broke. He wasn’t itching for that to happen—he was unsure of how bad things could get if he starved it off for too long—so he decided to let it happen.

It was surprisingly easy to compile a list of possible candidates. A particularly rude neighbor they had frequent issues with; a museum curator that had refused Hannibal a job after learning of his relationship status; a local shopkeeper that had been convicted of rape and released on a technicality. The list went on. Each one of them gave Will a unique twinge of excitement down his spine, and some nights when he awoke and Hannibal did not, he would mull over which one was the best choice.

The choice was made for him, and it did not end up being one of his picks. Hannibal had been away, trying to secure them a house in Turkey, should they ever need to make a quick move. Will, bored in a house too large for one person, had taken a walk.

Their city in Greece was a nice one, but bad people inevitably swarmed everywhere, and Will found himself against a lamppost with a knife at his throat, faced by a gentleman at least twice his size, snarling at him in a foreign tongue. It was well past dark, and the hope of anyone else being on the streets in that particular section was slim to none.

He might have felt intimidated, given the man’s size and build, if a sick combination of rage and excitement hadn’t filled his gut first. The sensation, paired to his advantage with his police training and his attacker’s apparent slowness, made it easy to snatch the knife away and put him in a headlock.

He could have left it at that. The man was frightened enough and no longer armed, and letting him go would have been an easy task.

He didn’t want to do that. This was an offering meant for him, and he intended to take advantage of it. With the knife pressed against his neck enough to draw forth a thin line of blood, it was easy to coerce the man into following him home.

What wasn’t easy was committing the act. He was not skilled like Hannibal in this area; sure, they’d killed together, but only in self-defense. It was clear that the man intended to put up a fight, and Will didn't have drugs to put him down or the medical knowledge to knock him out quickly. He could have killed him then, made it easier and less painful for the both of them; he could have done a lot of things better that night, but what he did do was beat the man unconscious with a kitchen tool whose use he was unsure of. He hoped Hannibal wouldn't mind.

More for Hannibal's sake than his own, he laid out towels to catch most of the blood he knew would be spilling onto their floors. The man slept soundly, even as Will struggled to lift his dead weight into a chair and position him in a way that allowed him to be bound and gagged.

The hardest part was done.

While he awaited the return of consciousness, he observed the man's facial features. Dried blood was caked to certain parts of his hairline where he'd hit him to the ground. The crew cut he sported was rather unflattering to the shape of his head, Will noted dryly. A wide face and a chiseled jawline made up for it, and facial hair a similar length and color to Will's made for a considerably handsome man. He almost felt bad when he plunged a recently sharpened kitchen knife into his cheek, hoping to give the man a temporary scar similar to his own.

A howl of pain and a sharp jolt in the chair later, Will was gazing into the wild and frightened eyes of a man completely unaware of what he had stumbled into. He rambled into the cloth plugging his mouth, probably begging in a language Will couldn't understand anyway. He didn't bother to check.

He considered speaking to the man, letting him know exactly what was coming. That was what Hannibal would do, ever the gentleman that he was. He opted for silence instead; there was the probability of a language barrier, and Will was afraid that his resolve would crumble if he heard any pleas. It was too late to go back.

He didn't have any particular interest in torturing the man; if he were to do that, it wouldn't be alone. Perhaps that could be a crossroads he and Hannibal would address together later on. Tonight, it was just him, an unlucky stranger, and a blade.

Quick use of it was made; he dragged it across the man's recently exposed stomach, repeating what he had done to the Dragon, though not as deeply, doing his best to keep the man alive for at least a short while longer. What were once white towels at their feet were stained red, as was Will's white dress shirt that he remembered Hannibal insisting he buy. 

The man howled into the cloth, unintelligible words laced with pain. Pity was followed by disgust; a man brave enough to attempt to mug him was now unraveled at the seams in his kitchen.

Hannibal had promised to be home by dawn, so Will kept up the charade as long as he could. He made lacerations, some shallow, some deep, for the sake of watching the blood fall to the ground. It shone a bright crimson under the kitchen lights, not at all like the inky blackness that had reflected off of the Dragon's blood. He took no pleasure in the sounds of agony the man made, feeling more annoyed at them than pleased. He wondered how Hannibal put up with it on the regular.

He considered disembowelment, before deciding that such a thing would be too gruesome by himself. He wasn't all too familiar with the anatomy anyway, and doubted he could pull the task off without making an even bigger mess. He settled for widening the slash across the man's stomach, not enough for anything to fall out of him.

Will was surprised by how much time had elapsed as morning approached. The clock read 4:30 AM, and by some curse of an angry god, the man hadn't died yet. He'd long since stopped screaming, either realizing it was futile or becoming too weak from blood loss to continue. He decided mercy was appropriate then, and finished off the last of an already departed soul by swiping the red-soaked knife across his throat. Will stored the look in the man's eyes before he'd done it away in his memory palace, finding a certain beauty in it.

The body in front of him was not the only thing soaked to the bone in red. Will's clothes, hair, skin—all were sticky with blood. He'd have to burn the clothes, most likely, and take more than a few showers to erase it from his skin.

It could wait. He began cleanup on the kitchen alone, only to have Hannibal arrive home about a half hour into it. His head snapped up, waiting to hear his lover's voice.

"Will?"

"In here." His voice sounded raspy for a reason he couldn't place, considering he hadn't spoken a word all evening.

"I did not expect to find you awake." The words cut off suddenly at the end, and Will knew he'd seen the bloody crime scene in their kitchen. He turned around to face Hannibal, hair matted to his forehead and shirt a permanent shade of red.

"Nor did I expect to find this," Hannibal finished. He tilted his head to the side, bewildered smile forming. "What did this man do to invoke your ire?"

"He tried to mug me." Will shrugged his shoulders; Hannibal didn't care what he did. They both knew it. "That's not why I did this."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

Everything he wanted to say would be hard to force out, but he'd been planning this conversation for weeks. It was time to be honest, even when honesty meant brutality.

"I've been wanting to," he said, slowly taking steps towards Hannibal. "For a long time, ever since we got here and the dreams started. I know you've been hunting, Hannibal. I thought maybe if you handled that side of...us, I wouldn't have to."

He took a deep breath. "But I see blood everywhere we go. I see a potential victim in everyone we walk past. I'm finally happy here. I can't sit here and lie to myself for the sake of false morality for the rest of our lives when it hardly even matters. Morality went away when I chose you."

Hannibal closed the space between them, embracing Will gently. "If you wanted to hunt with me, I would have gladly taken you."

"I know," he said honestly. He needed only to ask. "But I wanted to see if I could do it on my own first." He paused, hesitated before asking an odd question. "Are you...proud of me?"

Hannibal stared down at Will and brushed a damp strand of hair off of his forehead. "Of course I am, Will."

Will took a sharp intake of breath. Hannibal tilted his chin upwards and kissed him lightly. He spoke softly a moment later.

"You've become a beast."

"I know."

"Do you regret it?"

"No." It was the truth, and Hannibal seemed satisfied by knowing it.

Hannibal kissed him again, deeper this time, and he became shamefully aware of his arousal. It hadn't been the blood and gore that brought it upon him; if anything, he felt a little squeamish now that the adrenaline had died down. It had been the feeling of raw power and domination over another life that had gotten deep under his skin and into his bones.

He was wary to make Hannibal aware of it, wondering if he might get the wrong impression, but the desire was heavy enough inside him to make him not care. He ground himself against Hannibal's leg. Before Hannibal could react, he pulled away and brought his mouth to the taller man's ear. "Get on your knees, Hannibal."

It was daring in itself. Hannibal was typically the dominant party in that respect, and Will had never minded; he rather enjoyed it. Tonight, though, was different. Tonight, with power bursting in his veins, he didn't want to spread himself open and welcome someone else inside. He had a deep rooted desire to show Hannibal what he had become.

To Will's surprise, Hannibal didn't question it. He sunk dutifully to his knees and gazed up at Will, as if waiting for the next command.

Will stared at him, breathing ragged, not knowing what the next appropriate step would be. Hannibal supplied words for him. "Would you like to hold power over me like you did that man, Will?"

He clenched his teeth, ground them together. "Yes."

Hannibal smiled in that way he usually did before a sexual encounter occurred, wicked and gleaming, with just a hint of teeth. "Show me. Show me the power you felt tonight. Show me what you are."

Will's hand flew to his belt, perhaps embarrassingly quickly, and fumbled to undo it. Ever infuriating as he was, Hannibal kept talking as Will dropped his undergarments. "Will you humiliate me like you did that man, Will? Show me the same display of superiority and strength?"

"Shut up, Hannibal," he growled, not meaning it, every word a new shock of pleasure down his spine.

"I'd like you to make me, William."

Will's eyes snapped up to meet his at that comment, completely uncharacteristic of Hannibal; and seeing the challenge in his eyes, he knew he was being invited to do what they were both yearning for.

Hannibal opened his mouth as Will took his cock in his hand. Usually Hannibal would make the first move, but tonight he didn't feel up to waiting and buried himself to the hilt in his throat. He was no longer afraid of hurting the man, having long since discovered a particularly useful skill of his—an uncanny ability to control his gag reflex to his needs.

Hannibal's nostrils flared, likely taking in Will's scent, as he lapped at the shaft with his tongue. Will's fist clenched tightly in his hair, tugging on it, ruffling it, doing everything in his power to make it look ravaged.

Hannibal's hands reached up to grab at Will's thighs. He growled, shoving himself further into Hannibal's mouth and swatting his hands away. "No. No touching for you tonight."

Hannibal was touchy, shocking as learning the fact had been for Will. He adored being close to Will, and was especially handsy during sex, stroking and pinching and scratching the skin wherever he felt best. Will knew denying him the pleasure would set him off and smirked when Hannibal growled as well as he could around Will's cock.

Will's fingers curled in Hannibal's hair and yanked him backwards. He sputtered and coughed, gasping heavily for breath he'd been denied.

"Was my performance not satisfactory?" he rasped. The bastard still managed a smirk, despite the spit running down his chin from his mouth.

Will met his smirk with his own. "Beg me for it."

He didn't miss the flicker of surprise in Hannibal's eyes, quickly hidden by desire and mischief. "You want me to beg like that man begged for his life?"

"Yes." Will angled his hips so his erection pointed away from Hannibal. "Beg, then."

Hannibal's jaw twitched in defiance. This would not be an easy task for him, Will knew, making it all the better for the both of them.

"I would like to get you off, Will," he managed.

Will stifled a laugh, afraid of ruining the mood, though the seriousness and formality of Hannibal's tone was humorous. He pulled back on the man's hair, angling his head further back so they were forced to make and maintain eye contact.

"I've never heard you beg, Hannibal," he said, voice low and thick with lust, "but I think you can do better."

Hannibal's lip curled in a snarl, and Will expected him to put up a fight. He didn't. "Please let me get you off, Will."

The _please_ was a good start, but Will wanted to see how far he could take it. "Ask to suck my cock, Hannibal."

A sound between a huff and a moan was made. "Please let me..." He paused, hesitating. "Please let me suck your cock, Will."

_Cock_ was also a new word leaving Hannibal's mouth, and it sounded absolutely delectable in his accent.

He made him repeat it all of two more times before deciding that he'd taunted the man enough. "Since you asked so nicely," Will moaned, sliding himself back into Hannibal's mouth.

Having been hard for over an hour already, Will knew it wouldn't take long for him to finish. He thrusted into Hannibal's mouth at a steady pace, which slowly dissolved into a more frenzied one. As he neared the edge, he tugged on the man's hair again. "Look at me."

Hannibal fought a bit more on that, but eventually relented, gazing up at Will with half-lidded, lust-blown eyes. A few seconds of eye contact and he came down Hannibal's throat, his moan echoing through the wide rooms of their house.

Breathing heavily, he withdrew from Hannibal's mouth. The older man stood up and Will's hand moved to his crotch, wanting to return the favor.

"No need," Hannibal murmured, planting a kiss on Will's neck. Will felt a wet patch on Hannibal's pants and momentarily admired his ability to get off like that, almost on command.

"Your new pants," Will chuckled. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright."

"I didn't push you too far, did I?" Will asked. He leaned his head into Hannibal's neck.

"Not at all. I enjoyed it as much as you did." Will looked at him, and the smile he had was genuine. He placed a short kiss on Hannibal's mouth.

"I love you," he said gently. It wasn't often that either of them said the words; they didn't need to be said regularly. But when they were said, the passion in the room was undeniable.

"I love you, _inamorato."_ It was a word always said with the deepest amount of affection, so much that Will had never felt the need to ask for its true definition.

Hannibal held Will in his arms for what felt like hours before he bothered to speak again, only to address their other pressing issue.

"As much as I would love to hold you all night, we have a mess to clean up."

**Author's Note:**

> this is So Sinful and i'm so sorry lmao but the idea came to me the other day and i kind of really like the idea of power-hungry will in this situation. so i did it. because im bad.
> 
> anyone keeping up with my other fic, bad bad things - it will be updated Eventually, sometime soon i'm hoping, i'm kind of at a roadblock with which way to take it so if you've got suggestions, hit me up at criminalimprov.tumblr.com. i am working on it though! fear not
> 
> i hope you enjoy. whatever this is


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